The Lesser of Two Evils
by crazybeagle
Summary: My point is, you believe that your brother's death is the lesser of two evils. But exchanging an eternity of fire and damnation for Heaven and safety and respite? I'd call that mercy. Set two months after Swan Song. Sammy's back, and in trouble...
1. Chapter 1

**The Lesser of Two Evils**

**Part One**

_**AU, set after Swan Song, and it has little to do with Season Six. I think that's about all you need to know, and you probably can deduce that already from reading it. I apologize for nothing. Mwahaha. And it shall be posted in multiple parts, likely two, because when it comes to reviews, I act rather like a…shall we say…lady of questionable repute. :) High T for swearing. **_

He should've known better than to expect anything different than this, Dean thought as he stared down at Sam's lifeless body. Stupid of him not to realize that every time, _every _fucking _time _the universe or fate or whatever decided to cut them a break, everything would always get screwed royally to hell. And now was no exception. So yeah. He should've known. But that didn't make each blow dealt hurt any less, especially now…Oh God, especially now. It'd been two months—_two months—_since Sam had jumped into the hole in the first place, and he'd spent the past two months trying not to let Lisa and Ben see the alcohol or the cold-sweat nightmares, not to let them see how completely broken he really was, and pretend that he didn't spend about 100 percent of his time wanting…so badly…to just die and be done with it all. Every minute of every day, the sickening truth of it—_Sammy's dead, Sammy's gone, Sammy's in Hell_—threatened to knock him flat on his face and leave him without the will to get back up, and now…the irony of it was almost laughable. Hardly a day ago, he finds Sam again. Alive and...not exactly _well, _but better than could be hoped from anyone who'd spent a stint in the most horrific pit of Hell. And now he's dead, getting cold, and bleeding out in Dean's arms. He could feel the blood soaking through his damn _shirt_. _But he's not in Hell now, at least…_he tried to remind himself. Not that _that _helped. Getting sprung from Hell, only to hop onto the express lane, a bloody agonizing express lane, to Heaven. So-called Paradise. Yeah right.

It figured, really.

A day ago. That was when it all went wrong. Not that anything had been "right" to begin with, really. He'd been down in the kitchen late into the night, unable to sleep and not wanting to wake Lisa or Ben. He was restlessly pacing back and forth, a bottle clutched tight in his hand, when he turned around and bumped right into Castiel. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered at their feet.

"Shit, Cas," Dean muttered. "Don't do that."

Castiel's brows knit. He looked from the smashed bottle to Dean's face. "You're intoxicated," he stated.

"Only a little," he snapped. Not that he hadn't fully planned on getting hammered tonight—a surefire way to finally get some sleep when all else failed—but that was beside the point. "What the hell're you doing here? Don't you have the whole heavenly host to rescue or something like that?" He sounded bitter, and mad, and he knew it. But he was still sort of angry that the second they'd stopped the Apocalypse, Cas had just up and left so fast. Not that what he had to do wasn't important, and not that Cas's presence would really change anything, but as if he wasn't alone and broken up enough, Cas had had to ditch him too. And besides, seeing Cas again inevitably reminded him of everything he was so desperately trying (and failing) to forget. Sam…

Castiel frowned. "Yes," he stated simply. Dean rolled his eyes. "But that's not why I'm here," Cas continued.

"Oh, so you thought you'd just, y'know, drop by for a _visit_?" Dean growled. "'Cause no offense, but I'm not really in the mood."

Cas's frown deepened. "This is important."

"Really."

"It's about S—"

"Don't," Dean said abruptly. An edge of panic crept into his voice. "I don't wanna hear it."

"Dean—"

"No." He turned away and resumed his pacing. What the _hell._ Cas hadn't come to see him at all in the past two months, off trying to reconstruct heaven or something like that, and now he thought he was entitled to just waltz in here and bring up Sam? _Not happening. _"Leave," he said quietly. Dangerously.

"Dean."

"_Now_." He rounded on him, feeling a sudden urge to punch Cas in the face, and he could give a crap if Cas had his mojo back or not. Like Cas could really bring himself to retaliate if Dean did sock him.

"He's out, Dean. He's alive."

Now Dean felt as if it had been him that had been punched: he could almost feel the air _whoosh_ing from his lungs. "Wh-what?" He managed to choke out.

"Yes." Cas looked somber.

"No." He managed to make it to one of the kitchen stools before his knees could give out on him. "No, he can't…" He could feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he angrily brushed them away. "You're shittin' me. Stop it."

Cas got a funny look on his face at that. "No, I assure you I'm not…_shitting _you. He has returned from hell, and he needs your help."

"You expect me to believe—"

"Dean." Cas sounded angry, and his voice had gained that beware-my-wrath-or-I-shall-smite-thee edge to it that it always got when he was particularly pissed. "Your brother is in trouble, and I'm here to take you to him whether you _believe _me or not."

Dean blinked. _Oh._ Cas really was serious. And Cas wouldn't lie to him period, let alone about something like this. So either he was having one seriously fucked-up dream (which was likely), or Cas was telling the truth. "What kind of trouble?" he muttered, feeling strangely numb inside. Dream or not, he might as well go with it. And if it wasn't a dream…well, he'd deal with that later. "Is he hurt?"

"No, but that is exactly what we must attempt to prevent."

"_Attempt?_" Even though he was still in this-is-all-a-sick-and-twisted-dream mode, this worried him.

"It would seem that…" Cas paused, as if considering what would be the most prudent way to explain the situation. "Some of the more….vicious…forces of hell are bent upon hunting your brother down, and it is our belief that their intent is to drag him back into the pit."

Dean snorted. _That's Cas for you. Short, sweet, and to the point. _He knew he ought to ask some questions: _how the hell do you know all this, ANY of this, how'd Sam even get out in the first place,_ etc., but what he said instead was, "Okay. What are we waiting for?" He hopped up from the stool.

"We're waiting for you…"Cas began, confused.

"Nevermind. Don't strain yourself, genius." He hopped up. "Let's go."

"Alright." Cas stretched out two fingers towards Dean's forehead.

"Wait." Dean swatted his hand away. "Lisa and Ben…" Dream or not, he wasn't going to take the chance of leaving them on their own, to get dragged down by the rotten luck that seemed to follow him and Sam around.

"They will be looked after, I promise you," Cas said.

Dean nodded and said nothing else. He'd have to take that at face value. He should say goodbye, leave a note, _anything_, but Cas looked impatient, and he felt too drained to try to pick a fight with him or with Lisa. _Besides, if Sammy's in trouble_…

After a quick, quiet trip to the cabinet in the garage from which he retrieved a duffel bag stuffed full of random weapons that Lisa had made him lock up "for his own good," he reappeared in the kitchen and stood in front of Cas. He closed his eyes and felt Cas's fingers light on his temple. Then came a sickening _whoosh_, coupled with an odd plummeting sensation and the sudden feeling that the laws of gravity had just been reversed, and just as quickly, his feet collided hard with a grungy tiled floor.

They were in a dingy, dilapidated old bathroom that looked like it was inside a gas station. The walls were coated in mildew, and the fluorescent lights were flickering weakly. With a jolt Dean saw at least four dead, bloodied bodies were strewn across the floor.

Huddled in one corner, clutching a shotgun in a death grip, was Sam.

At the sudden sound of movement in the room, Sam's head instinctively jerked upward and he swung the gun forward. Dean started at the expression on his face…jaw set, mouth pressed into a grim line, and empty, empty eyes. It was the look of a hunter. And on Sam, it just seemed wrong.

Dean took a step toward him. It took a few swallows before he could make his throat work properly, but he managed to say, "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes widened, but he didn't lower the gun. In that half a second, those hardened features betrayed an instant of vulnerability. "Dean?" he sounded unsure, hesitant—his voice quite at odds with his tense hunter's stance.

"Yeah," Dean managed. _He's alive, he's alive, oh God, he's alive…_ He cleared his throat. "Hey."

Sam half-smiled. It looked more like a grimace. "Hi."

"Here's your reinforcement," Cas told Sam, looking tentatively between the two of them as if unsure whether he was interrupting something. "We should leave now in case they bring reinforcements of their own."

Sam pushed himself up. "Uh-huh." He glanced at the door and the single window nervously.

"Who's 'they'?" Dean demanded.

"Demons. Like I said," said Cas, who was halfway out the door, gesturing at the bodies with distaste.

"Hold up," Dean said. "Will somebody please explain what the hell's goin' on?"

"Ambush," Sam muttered. "Multiple ambushes, more like." He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Why?"

"We aren't sure," Cas said. "However, it would seem as though Lucifer has deduced that Sam is no longer in his thrall, and is sending legions of those faithful to him to drag Sam back."

"They can do that?" Fear trickled down Dean's spine and he took a step closer to Sam. "How d'you know that anyway?"

Cas sighed. "There have been some rather…vociferous demons among Sam's attackers."

"Like Meg," Sam added dully.

"Yes, like Meg," Cas agreed. "That seemed to be the gist of her…taunting. Fortunately for us, it means that we know what they are planning on doing. But unfortunately, and likely also thanks to Meg..." Cas gestured to a bloody collection of runes painted onto one of the bathroom stalls, "…they were anticipating servants of Heaven to be among their opposition."

"Friggin' fantastic," Dean mumbled. "They can do that, though? I mean drag Sammy back."

"They seem to believe so," Cas said. He sounded like he was skirting around the issue.

"Cas," he growled. "Tell me. _Can they do it?_"

Sam nodded slowly.

"How?"

Cas's face again suggested that he was trying and failing to find the words to explain the situation delicately. When he finally did speak, he merely looked sad. "When Sam said yes to Lucifer, he allowed his body to play host to- and his spirit to come in close contact with- what is arguably the greatest force of raw evil in existence. That degree of evil would inevitably have…changed him. Permanently."

Sam kept his eyes trained on the floor.

"Changed him how?" Dean asked.

Sam finally looked up. God, he looked so…defeated. Resigned. "If they find me and they kill me, they'll be able to drag me back like I was one of their own." _One of their own. _He'd nearly spat the words out with disgust.

"_What?_"

"Of course, that is saying nothing for the actual quality of his soul," Cas added quickly, obviously trying to sound helpful. "To have been touched by darkness and furthermore to have proven oneself stronger than said darkness, and to have been fundamentally changed by it, are two completely different things. Sam is still Sam."

Dean nodded despite the dread building inside of him. "Damn straight. We're not gonna let them get you, Sammy."

Sam nodded as well, though not looking particularly convinced. He was still staring at the floor. "Thanks."

Dean frowned at his reaction. God, what happened to him? When was Sam ever one to settle for defeat? It was like something had broken inside of him, ceased to function…

But then again, Dean of all people should know that Hell had a funny way of breaking people.

"We really should go," Cas repeated anxiously as the lights flickered once more. "There will be time for talking later."

"Maybe," Sam added.

"Yes, maybe," Cas agreed. "Now come."

They both stepped towards him, and a second later, Dean felt himself hurtling headlong through darkness once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Lesser of Two Evils**

**Part Two**

A few minutes later found them in a tiny, stuffy, poorly furnished room of an old motel. After having transported Dean and Sam, Cas made a quick return trip to the old gas station to retrieve supplies that Sam had left in his car, and they made quick work of salting the windows and door while Cas painted some protection symbols of his own onto the walls for good measure. Afterwards the three of them found themselves standing around in the midst of an awkward silence.

Dean knew a million questions ought to be swirling around in his head, but for the time being he was looking at Sam with an expression that suggested that Sam might vanish the second he looked away. Sam was looking back at him apprehensively.

"How'd you get out?" Dean asked quietly.

"I don't know," he said impassively. "I don't remember. Woke up in that graveyard a few weeks later."

"Well what do you remember?"

And then he was looking at the floor once again. "I don't wanna talk about it," he said.

"Dude, really. Of all people I really think I might have a pretty good idea of what they did to—"

"Dean." he looked up sharply, his eyes bright. "Look, I _can't._ Just drop it, okay?"

"Sam—"

"Please don't."

"Okay. I understand." And Dean _did_ understand. He understood that Sam's "I can't" sounded a hell of a lot like "I won't." Which had been precisely Dean's problem two years ago. But for now he wouldn't push it. He didn't know if he could take it right now anyway. God, he could hardly even convince himself that all this was real…

"Thank you."

"Sure." He took a step toward him, not sure how much longer he could keep it together. "God, Sammy, I didn't think I'd ever..." His voice cracked and he felt his eyes burning.

"Yeah. Me either."

Dean hugged him then, aware that he was tearing up, acutely aware of just how much of a wreck he'd really been for the past two months, and not really caring if Sam or Cas saw. All he cared about was that this really _was _Sam, and he was here, he was back. Sam stiffened at the contact but awkwardly hugged him back. When Sam stepped back a few seconds later, he winced and shifted his right arm slightly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, uh…think my wrist might be broken, but yeah."

Cas's brows knit. "When did that happen?"

"After you got blasted back to Heaven," Sam said. "There were only two of 'em left but one of them kind of smashed my wrist into a urinal." He looked a little sheepish. Dean almost laughed at that. Yeah, this was Sammy alright.

"But you can fix that no problem, right Cas?" Dean asked.

"I…can try," Cas responded. Sam frowned, but didn't look particularly surprised.

"What do you mean _try_?" _Fantastic. This day just keeps getting better and better, _Dean thought.

"I mean that I am uncertain if I can heal him for the same reason that the demons may be able to drag him back to Hell."

"Well try," Dean snapped.

"I will." He stepped forward and placed a hand on Sam's sleeve, and screwed his eyes shut as if concentrating. Five or so seconds went by, and he suddenly withdrew his hand as if he'd been burned. Sam gasped.

"That was…unsuccessful," Cas stated unnecessarily, rubbing his hand. "Ow."

"Great," Dean muttered. This all just reaffirmed his conviction that Murphy's Law should be renamed "Winchesters' Law." He knelt down and unzipped his duffel bag, and fished around in it until he found an old Ace bandage. "Let me see your wrist," he told Sam, desperate for something to _do. _As long as he was doing something, anything, he wouldn't have any time to panic. Yet.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said, though his tone seemed to say, _Why bother? _Dean rolled his eyes. _Drama queen… _Nonetheless, Sam sat down on one of the beds and extended his arm towards Dean.

"So how long did you say you been back?" Dean asked as he unrolled the bandage. From one corner of the room, Cas looked at the bandage curiously, and Dean vaguely wondered if he'd ever seen one before.

"'Bout a month and a half."

"So where the hell have you been since then?"

"Uh…"

"_Uh_ what?"

"Mostly just…traveling around on my own. Trying to get back into the swing of things."

"And you didn't tell anybody you were back?" _And you didn't tell _me_ you were back?_

"I, um, stayed with Bobby for a couple days. Right at the beginning. I didn't really know what else to do."

"That's funny," Dean said, securing a metal fastener to the end of the bandage. "Bobby never called me. You wanna tell me why?" He fought to keep his voice casual.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. Obviously this was the part of the conversation he'd been hoping to avoid. But when he opened his eyes, he met Dean's gaze straight on. "Because I asked him not to," he said steadily.

"What…why?" Okay, now he was pissed. The total hell he'd been through all this time, all over nothing? What gave Sam the right to put him through that?

"Look, I…Dean, you were just starting to put together a new life for yourself. A good one. And you have a lot going for you back there. And that's what I wanted."

"So?"

"So, you were…dealing."

Dean smiled bitterly. So the way he'd spent the past two months was "dealing"? More like just barely managing to hang on for Lisa's sake, and pretending like everything was okay for Ben's sake. But then something occurred to him. "Hold up. How would _you _know I was dealing?"

Sam looked away. "I…came around once or twice. Checked up on you guys."

"You _what_?" he spluttered. "So what, did you just drop by and say hi to Lisa and Ben when I wasn't there? Wow. Am I the only one you didn't bother to tell that you weren't in _H__ell_ anymore?" His voice got louder with each word. "Cas knew. Bobby knew. What the hell, Sam?"

"Lisa and Ben didn't know," Sam said wearily. "Bobby knew, and he called Cas, wanted Cas to keep an eye on me or something."

"And it's a good thing he did," Cas added.

"Yeah, whatever," he growled. Not that it wasn't true, but still. "Why wasn't I in your 'big secret,' then?"

"Because if I showed up, it'd just screw everything up for you. Everything you had with Lisa and Ben, everything you were going to have."

Dean snorted. "Imagine that. Me, screwed up."

"A home, Dean. You have a home. I wasn't going to ruin that for you." He looked down.

"That's bull."

"No it's not."

"Okay, fine then. What are you not tellin' me?"

"Perhaps…" Cas began from his corner. He looked rather uncomfortable having to witness this conversation but conversely earnest, like he wanted to help them resolve their issues, and Dean guessed that if he wasn't determined to stay put and help protect Sam, he'd much rather be gone right now. "Perhaps Sam wasn't prepared…_emotionally_—" the word sounded odd coming out of his mouth—"to see you again at the time...?" Dean resisted an urge to snigger at that. It was almost endearing. _Nice try, Cas. We all know how awesome you are at the caring-and-sharing thing._

But Sam's jaw clenched, and Dean knew Cas had hit the nail on the head. "Not helping, Cas," Sam growled. He still wouldn't look at Dean.

"That true?" Dean asked.

He sighed. "Look. When I got out I… Well, I wasn't convinced I was home free, that I was out for good. Turns out now I was right."

"It's not gonna happen," Dean said automatically.

Sam ignored him and continued. "So I figured, what good would it do, seeing you again and messing everything up for you if I was just gonna get…dragged right back down again? A shit ton of pain for no good reason."

"Oh." The words were a dull blow to him, and he realized that he should've known it was something like that. Of course, by Sam's logic, that's exactly how he'd have seen the situation. And that was heartbreaking. But it didn't mean that he was going to relent his own argument. He was still mad. "So…you figured you'd leave me in the dark until you needed me to come save your ass?"

"I didn't want to drag you into this," he said, now shooting a glare at Cas. "Cas did that one on his own." Cas just stared straight back, obviously not doubting the wisdom of his decision to involve Dean.

"Well too late. Consider me dragged in." He plopped down on the second bed across from Sam. "So what're we up against, exactly?"

Sam's tense shoulders relaxed a little. Obviously he was glad for the subject change. "It started a few weeks ago. Just some scattered demon attacks a few places I happened to be. At first I thought it was just random demon activity, one or two at a time, and nothing I couldn't handle, so I took care of it…even though I haven't exactly been hunting since I've been back. I think...whoever, or whatever is behind it was trying to throw me off their scent by making it look random."

"But it's grown steadily worse," Cas added. "Even we noticed some unusual disturbances in seemingly random areas. And because Bobby asked me to, I'd been attempting to…keep tabs on Sam, which was not easy because he has a tendency not to answer his phone, but in following a trail of demonic carnage I finally did manage to find him." Dean wondered if it had occurred to Cas how many times Sam had probably changed his cell number during that time. Probably not.

"Great," Dean growled. "So you waited until you were running for your life from…how many was it this time?"

"'Bout eight," Sam muttered.

"From _eight _demons, who've been chattin' about dragging you back to Hell, and you _still_ didn't call anybody for help? If not me, why not Bobby or somebody?"

"My sentiments exactly," Cas said sharply. "But he wouldn't listen."

"Dude, seriously. Don't be an idiot. Bobby's got a friggin' _panic room_, and maybe it's just me but don't you think that maybe, just maybe, that's where you oughta be right now?"

"And back myself into a corner while who knows how many demons stand there and wait for me to come out?" He shook his head. "What's the point? And it'll hold up for awhile, but against an entire army from Hell? I might as well just stay on the run."

"Maybe you're right, but look around, Sammy. Better there than here, at least for now. It won't take 'em long to find you. And no matter what, I'd feel a hell of a lot better with Bobby helpin' us."

"I don't want to get Bobby killed, Dean."

Dean frowned. Great, more of Sammy's morbid (though not completely unreasonable) logic.

"Once again, bull. I'm calling him."

"Dean, don't—"

"_I'm calling him._"

"Look, it's the middle of the night…"

"When has that ever mattered?"

"Okay, fine, you can call him. But we got Cas right now. We're good. Just…wait 'till tomorrow, okay?"

"Fine." He wasn't in the mood to butt heads with Sam right now. And they did have Cas. But if he could get a free second away from Sam tonight, he'd go ahead and call anyway. "So when did Meg show up?"

"Maybe two weeks ago. She said something about…how I, uh, 'gave the big man downstairs the slip,' or something like that, and something stupid like 'you aren't playing nice so me and my friends are gonna have to put you back in your corner.' And I figured that that meant…"

"Yeah, I get the picture." Dean tried to sound dismissive. "Ugh. Please tell me you ganked that bitch."

"Couldn't. There were too many of them. I offed maybe three of 'em and then I had to run, and Cas found me after that. And she showed up again maybe a week later—I was in Arkansas, I think—and that time she and the others were prepared for Cas, and so were the ones who were after me tonight, but Meg wasn't with them."

"So new tricks up their sleeves, huh?"

"Yeah. We're gonna have to make sure none of 'em have time to paint a symbol or get the chance to whip out some holy oil."

"What about hellhounds? I mean, if it's Meg we're dealing with…" His blood chilled at the thought. In his mind's eye he could almost see Jo bleeding out on the floor of that hardware store.

"No, not so far."

"It would be unwise of them to set hellhounds after you, if it's your soul they're after," Cas said. "If they are so convinced that they need to drag you back themselves, they must believe that your soul is not going to come easily, otherwise they could have just sent hellhounds in the first place. For a soul undeserving of Hell, such a fast death would ensure that said soul would go straight to Heaven."

"Wait…" Sam began. "Do you think mine would?"

"What?"

"If I died, I mean." His voice got quieter, and it sounded hard for him to get the words out. "Would they…y'know…let me into Heaven? Because it's starting to sound an awful lot like I don't really belong anywhere, and I…don't want to get stuck somewhere in between."

And that was when it dawned on Dean that Sam really _was _scared. Yeah, maybe he was convinced they'd lose, but it didn't mean he wasn't terrified of what he must see as his only two options: go back to Hell or spend eternity as a ghost.

Cas opened his mouth to answer, and shut it again. He looked uncertain, and sad.

"Well let's not wait around to find out, okay?" Dean said abruptly. "So yeah, hellhounds. They may not send 'em after you, but they could use 'em to get me and Cas out of the way, so we gotta be ready for that."

"Yeah. Okay." He swallowed once or twice, and he looked sort of like he was trying not to cry.

Dean dumped the contents of his duffel onto the bed. "Here, help me with these. Cas, you too. Make yourself useful."

_To be continued. _


	3. Chapter 3

The Lesser of Two Evils

Part Three

Once they'd successfully prepared an arsenal of every weapon they had that they thought could possibly be useful to them, they figured it would be best to get some sleep and let Cas keep watch. It wasn't like Dean was likely to get much sleep at this point, and he said as much, but Sam had pointed out that there wasn't any point getting themselves killed because sleep deprivation dulled their reflexes. Dean grudgingly agreed, and settled down on one of the lumpy beds, his gun in his hands. Sam did the same, his gun (which would be a pain in the ass for him with a broken right wrist, as he was a much better shot with his right hand than his left) as well as Ruby's knife lying on the bedside table. Dean made Cas promise not to leave the room under any circumstances while they slept, because he had a funny feeling that whoever was after Sam might be expecting that, and without Cas they'd be completely, thoroughly screwed. As if they weren't already.

He wasn't expecting he'd sleep that night, but boy, did he ever sleep. More than he had in ages. Looking back, he knew the reason was that Sam was there—living, breathing, and safe (for now), sleeping in the bed next to his. Things were as they should be. Sort he awoke and rolled over to check the time on the old alarm clock, the glaring red numbers told him that it was 11:52 AM. _That _woke him up.

"Good morning." Castiel was leaned against the dresser, his arms crossed, staring at the wall in front of him. Knowing him, Dean thought, he'd probably stayed in that exact same spot all night long.

"Urgh…" he sat up and stretched. "Why didn't you wake us up? We should be…" he trailed off, realizing he wasn't sure what on earth they _should _be doing right about now. There wasn't all that much preparing a person could do when all the forces of Hell were after them. Except…oh yeah. Duh. "Bobby," he muttered under his breath. "Gotta call Bobby."

"Well…" For the umpteenth time, Cas looked uncomfortable and sheepish. "It appeared as though neither of you had gotten an adequate amount of sleep in quite some time, and in the brief time I've spent with Sam recently I've noticed that he's been getting very little sleep even when he is trying to, and he never looks particularly restful when he does."

Dean's heart sank. "Let me guess. Nightmares."

"Yes."

"I figured."

"Anyhow, I thought that it would be…impolite to wake you."

"Great, Cas. Of all the times for you to actually learn some manners, you gotta pick now," he grumbled as he rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes.

"Dean." Cas sounded angry.

"What?" He reached into his pockets. _Phone…phone…where'd I leave my friggin' phone?_

"Listen. I'm…" He looked over at the lump under the blankets of the second bed that was a still-sleeping Sam, and the worry apparent in his eyes made Dean's heart sink even further. "I'm doing the best that I can here. I'm helping you because you are my friends, but this… Understand that this isn't easy. The least you can do is try to be more agreeable."

He sighed. Yeah, maybe not his best move, pissing off their only chance of making it out of this in one piece. "I know, Cas. I'm sorry." And Cas _was _sticking his neck out for them here, and whether or not Dean would ever admit it, that meant a lot to him.

Cas nodded once in acknowledgement. "I suppose you should wake your brother now."

Dean went over to his bed, glad to see that nightmares or not, Sam appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He almost didn't want to wake him up, but he nudged his shoulder. "Hey. Up and at 'em, Sammy."

"Ugggggh…" Sam's groan was muffled by his pillow. Dean didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the wonderful familiarity of this scene…ever since they were both little Sam had never been much of a morning person, and it wasn't like he'd ever again expected to obnoxiously shake Sam awake so they could hit the road or arm up for a hunt or whatever. He could feel his face involuntarily breaking into what must've been a stupid, sappy smile.

"'M up, 'm up, cut it out." Sam's features automatically arranged themselves into his typical first-thing-in-the-morning-bitchface, which made Dean laugh out loud. He could almost pretend things were back to normal again. And Cas was right, no matter what horrible things Lucifer might've put him through, this was still Sammy.

Sam sat up and blinked a few times, obviously disoriented. Before he looked like he was awake enough to comprehend exactly what was going on, his eyes flitted from Dean to Cas, and Dean could tell from the look on his face that in that moment, regardless of all the shit that might be happening around them, that for the first time in a long time Sam felt safe and grateful and really, really, ridiculously happy that they were there. His expression was almost childlike.

"Morning," Dean said.

Sam blinked a few more times. "M-morning." He lifted up his Ace-bandaged hand to stifle a yawn, but hissed in pain and withdrew it, obviously having been too sleepy to remember to be careful of the injury.

Dean smirked. "Smooth."

"Bite me."

"I'll pass, thanks."

Sam rolled his eyes at that but he didn't seem to be able to keep from smiling, either.

"How's it doing, though? Your wrist."

Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess," he said indifferently.

Dean held out his hand. "Yeah, I'll be the judge of that." He should've expected this too—there's nothing like Hell to instill a person with stoicism. You come back, and next to the things you've endured, pain just doesn't faze you all that much anymore. "Let me see." Sam didn't argue, but held his hand out and allowed Dean to unwrap the bandage. "Crap," Dean muttered when the bandage fell away, revealing a very swollen wrist mottled with dark bruises. "We gotta get this looked at. Might need to be re-set."

"If we get outta this in one piece, sure thing," Sam said, standing up. "Morning, Cas."

"Good morning."

"Anyone seen my phone?" Dean called, now on his hands and knees and checking if it might've somehow fallen under his bed or one of the chairs.

"Nope." Sam disappeared into the bathroom.

"Yeah, real helpful, Sam," Dean yelled through the door. Obviously Sam still wasn't keen on the whole call-Bobby idea. He was halfway through double-checking his duffel when he remembered. "Shit."  
"What's wrong?" Cas asked.

"Left it at home," he said. "Bedside table. Charging." It only occurred to him after he'd already said it that he'd just unconsciously called Lisa's place "home." And he didn't exactly know how he felt about that. "Sam?" he called.

Sam stuck his head out of the bathroom. "Yeah."

"Using your phone. Where is it?"

"My bag. Front pocket."

"Okay." It only took a few seconds for him to find it, but when he got a good look at it… "Sam, what the—this is a disposable."

"Uh-huh."

"So you're tellin' me you've been wandering around the country with a useless phone on you?"

"Why is it useless?"

"No contacts."

"Nope."

"Why?"

"You know why," Sam said quietly, stepping out of the bathroom.

"Dammit, Sam. If you got yourself in trouble, or hurt, or…" Dean shook his head. "You didn't wanna see me, fine. But it was stupid of you to take off without any contacts. Reckless." By the end of this tirade, he realized he'd slipped into using his John-Winchester-voice. He clenched his jaw hard, glaring at Sam and resisting an urge to chew him out some more.

"I'm sorry." And he actually sounded like it—sorry that he'd upset Dean, if nothing else.

"Yeah, well…" he turned away and stalked off towards the bedside table to use the room phone instead, trying to get ahold of his temper. He didn't want to pick a fight with Sam when it'd been less than twelve hours since he'd found out Sam wasn't dead. "'Sorry' ain't gonna change the fact that any chance we might've had at contacting Bobby or anybody else might be shot to hell now. It's not like I memorize the numbers, he changes 'em a zillion times a month." Actually, he barely bothered to look at his phone much at all anymore. But Dean wanted those numbers to warn him they were coming; nobody instantaneously materialized their way onto the property of Singer Salvage unless they had a death wish. "I'll try to see if Lisa could look 'em up, but she's gonna be at work now, and she doesn't keep her phone on her when she's working."

"Or," Sam said with a frown, "She's doing what any sane person would do if somebody they cared about disappeared on them in the middle of the night, and stayed _home _from work, and is worried sick and sitting in the living room and talking to the cops right about now."

"Oh…" Yeah, that should've occurred to him. "Uh, yeah. Maybe." But it wasn't like he'd ran into all that many people in his life who would get all that worked up if he took off without telling anyone where he went. It came with being a hunter. He figured Lisa would've been mad, but he should've considered that she'd be worried.

But when he picked up the phone, he was greeted by the sound of static. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver. "Son of a…"

"What?"

"The line's dead."

Sam's head automatically snapped in the direction of the window. "Does that mean…?"

Dean shrugged, biting back panic of his own. "Could just be an electrical fluke or something. You got a phone on you, Cas?"

"Unfortunately no." Cas's head was cocked to one side, and he looked as though he was listening for something that Dean and Sam couldn't hear. "There should not be demons near us…I'd know it if there were."

"You sure about that?" Dean crossed over to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain back to peer outside.

Cas's brow furrowed. "Under…ordinary circumstances, I would be. I would've sensed it."

"Well I say we go poke around for ourselves, find out what we're up against here, which is hopefully nothing," Dean said. "And get something to eat while we're at it. I'm starving."

"Yeah, good plan." Sam dug through his bags for a change of clothes. "And, uh, where exactly are we, Cas? The sign on the back of the bathroom door said…Oklahoma?"

"Yes, rural Oklahoma. This place is located off of a nearly abandoned highway exit, and to the best of my knowledge there are only two or three other occupied rooms."

"An abandoned motel in the middle of friggin' nowhere," Dean mused. "I like it. That woulda thrown them off our scent for awhile."

"It's a good place to hide, yeah," Sam said, frowning, "hard to find and with not all that many people hanging around waiting to be possessed, but still…"

"If attacked, we will be stranded," Cas finished for him. "I know. But I don't see how it can be helped."

"It can't." Dean glowered at Sam. "Which is why you really oughta be at Bobby's right now."

Sam raked a hand through his hair, agitated. "Look. Until we figure this out, just drop it, okay? Let's go see what we're dealing with."

"Fine." It wasn't going to be easy to let it go, though. No, he didn't want to pick a fight, but if Sam got himself killed over this… Dean felt a little justified in being pissy with him. "We'll poke around for a few minutes. But after that, we're gonna up and haul ass to Bobby's place, and I don't give a damn if they follow us there, Sam."

"We will do so...if possible," Cas said cryptically.

"What do you mean _If p-_"

But Cas had already vanished.

Several minutes later found the two of them scoping out the parking lots and the perimeters of the long motel buildings, their weapons no longer concealed once they realized that there were no longer any cars in the parking lot—not even in the staff parking spaces, which was definitely suspicious, considering that Cas had sworn there had been guests here last night. Aside from the motel, they could see no other trace of civilization except for the beat-up, dusty road that ran by the front of the parking lot. Behind them was a thin line of trees, and beyond that in all directions stretched empty fields, blistering in the summer sun. An eerie, oppressive silence pressed in on them from all sides.

"I still think it'd be better if you'd let Cas come with us," Dean muttered as they tried pounding on yet another locked door (as Sam had pointed out that they ought to check and see if any of the people who'd seemingly disappeared were being held hostage somewhere, instead of dead or already possessed, which was far more likely.)

"I told you, this'll go a lot faster if we let Cas check stuff out on his own. Stuff only he can check. And we'd just slow him down."

"Yeah, well, I'd still feel better if you—"

"I'm finished," Cas said, materializing in front of them mere inches from where they were standing.

Dean started, and he and Sam jumped back. "God, Cas. Personal space."

Cas ignored him. "We were correct, the premises are empty. I checked the rooms and offices. They're all clear, no personal possessions left behind, no signs of struggle."

"A perfect abandonment, huh? Like they shut down for a holiday or something." Dean said.

"Yeah, but too perfect to be normal," Sam added, "And it's not like motels shut down for holidays anyway."

"Exactly." Cas looked frustrated, like he was missing something. "Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, even to me, but…while I searched I felt as if something was not as it should be. This place is disorienting. It should not be but it is."

"Well trust your gut, young Skywalker," Dean said. "What do you think the problem is?"

"My first thought was the presence of Enochian symbols, but the presence of such symbols is always glaringly obvious to our kind."

"Could they be hidden from you somehow?" Sam asked. "You know, like invisible ink for angels?"

"It's possible," Cas said, his face making it clear he didn't like the idea. "Although to be that well-versed in the Enochian language, one would have to be…"

"An archangel," Sam finished grimly. "Lucifer."

"And that's our cue to get the hell outta here," Dean said. "And find a phone, and _call Bobby_."

"Too late." Sam's expression was hard. "They know we're here."

Dean wanted to hit something or someone really hard in frustration right about then, but instead he smiled bitterly at his brother. "Well aren't you just a friggin' bucket of sunshine." He turned and spotted a few dilapidated but apparently functional vending machines not that far off behind them. "Well, as long as we're sitting ducks, we might as well eat."

A minute later found him and Sam sitting on the concrete barrier in front of a parking spot, each of them with a coke and a bag of M&M's that were probably well-past their expiration date. "Bon appétit," Dean said with a grin, popping a few of them into his mouth. All three of them were on-edge—Sam kept glancing around them, alert and restlessly fiddling with the clasps on the Ace bandage—and really, he himself would feel better if they were _doing _something right now…packing up to leave, barricading themselves into the room, _anything_… but they needed a moment to catch their breath and Dean knew it. Besides, it'd be pretty pathetic if one of them passed out from low blood sugar in the middle of a death-match with demons simply because they'd forgotten to eat.

"What are those?" Cas looked down at the M&M's curiously.

"M&M's," Dean said, holding up a few to show him. "They're chocolate."

Cas looked at them almost suspiciously. "But they're colorful. That seems…counter-intuitive." Dean snorted and shook his head. And nervous as Sam was, even he smiled at that one.

After a minute or so of silence, Sam turned toward Dean. "So, uh…have you got a job now? You know, a normal one?"

"No," Dean said.

His face darkened. "Dean, you promised you'd—"

"I know, I know, that I'd get on board with the whole boring-apple-pie-American-dream thing. And I'm trying. But in case you forgot, the economy sucks ass right now."

"Oh. Right."

"But I'm not freeloading either. I'm…contributing. You know, in my way." He cracked an evil grin.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know, credit card fraud and civilian life are two things that really shouldn't mix."

Dean shrugged. "Suit yourself. But Ben's college fund ain't gonna get any bigger on its own."

Sam laughed a little, surprised. "You started a college fund for Ben? _You_?"

"Nah, Lisa started it. I've just been adding to it."

"So you want Ben to go to college." He looked pleased.

"Why not? You went to college, and in the long run I'd say it did you good. Your freakishly large brain's gotten us out of more than a few hairy situations."

"_You_ didn't go to college."

"So? Doesn't mean Ben shouldn't."

Sam was now wearing his trademark sappy, sentimental smile. "You really care about him, don't you?"

"Yeah," Dean said after a moment. "I guess I do."

Sam had opened his mouth to reply when he was cut off by a third, unfamiliar voice that made all of them start. "Aww. Isn't that touching," the voice drawled.

Dean and Sam flung themselves to their feet and grabbed for their weapons, backing up until they were flanking Cas.

Then a girl, a short, spikey-haired redhead, walked out from behind a nearby dumpster. Dean had never seen her before.

But obviously Sam had, because he held his knife up in an offensive stance and fixed her with a murderous glare. "Meg."

"In the flesh," Meg said lightly. "Though, ah, slightly different flesh than last time. Hey there, handsome."

_To be continued. _


	4. Chapter 4

**The Lesser of Two Evils**

**Part Four**

_**AN: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc. It really means more than you guys know. **_

_**And PS- I STILL APOLOGIZE FOR NOTHING! **_

_**And PPS- I suppose I should do a disclaimer, though I suppose it should be obvious I don't own Supernatural. If I did, I fear that our boys would find themselves in a scary, scary world. Any character with half their wits about them should know that they ought to run screaming into the night if ever they encounter an angst author. Bwahaha.**_

"What are you doing here?" Sam spat, while Dean cocked his gun. Only Cas made no move, a sidelong glance at him brought to Dean's mind the expression "If looks could kill".

"So…" She took a few casual steps toward them, her hands clasped behind her back. "How've ya been, Sammy?"

"Go to hell."

"Can't, sorry." She smiled sweetly. "Not without you."

"What do you want?" It was Cas who spoke this time.

"Um, I think I just made that pretty clear, didn't I? I want Sam."

"Not now you don't. You would have brought backup."

Meg shrugged. "Well, you three do have an annoying way of killing whatever our Father throws at you by the dozen. I'm not an idiot."

Dean raised his rifle. "Coulda fooled me."

Meg held up her hands. "Easy, cowboy." And off in the distance, faint but still chillingly distinctive, came three sharp, canine howls. _Hellhounds. _Dean's jaw clenched but he didn't lower the gun. "Like I said, not an idiot. I just want to talk."

"Really."

"Yup, that's the plan. I come, I talk, I walk out of here, and nobody gets dead. For now, anyway."

"So that's how you think it's gonna be, huh?" Dean leered, but he lowered the gun when Sam shot him a don't-do-anything-stupid warning glance.

"Oh, I know that's how it's gonna be." Another distant howl. "And besides, do you really want to ruin the only chance you're gonna get to learn what you're up against? I'm doing you a favor."

"You wanna talk, then talk," Sam said, lowering the knife.

"Not until you put the knife down."

"Fine." He set the knife on the ground before him. She smiled.

"Alright, I'm gonna play it straight with you guys," she said. "I hate you. I hate your guts. I want you dead. I think you know that already, but at least we're all honest here. Not like your buddy Ruby." She sneered. "Gotta give her props for her finesse, though, the backstabbing little tramp…screwing around with _you,_ and with your mind, not to mention your _feelings—" _she made air quotes around the word, "and screwing you over all the while. And on top of _that_, making you think you had the moral high ground right up until the second you popped Lucifer free. Oh, she must've thought it was adorable…poor, traumatized, naïve little Sammy who just needed a shoulder to cry on. It's a real shame you two had to put that knife through her gut."

Sam glowered at her. "Your point?"

"Oh, I get it. Touchy subject. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, the bottom line's this. You got two options. We can do this the easy way…or the fun way."

"Go on," Dean said. He was pretty sure he could guess the "fun way."

"Easy way is, you hand over the rings of the Four Horsemen, right now, and then I go home and nobody gets hurt."

Dean's stomach churned. The rings. He'd forgotten all about the rings. He vaguely remembered Cas taking them from him minutes after Sam had trapped Lucifer, but they were the keys to the box. He hadn't even considered the fact that if they fell into the wrong hands, they'd have the Apocalypse dumped into their laps. Again.

Meg studied their faces. "Going once…going twice…"

"Too late," Sam said. "They're gone."

"What?" She didn't look surprised, but boy, did she look pissed.

"I saw to it that they were destroyed," Cas said, his eyes hard. "I returned them to Death. With Lucifer safely locked away, he was able to obliterate them."

Dean sighed inwardly, relieved. Well that took care of that problem. But the relief dissipated at the next words that came out of Meg's mouth.

"Alrighty then. The fun way it is."

"And what's that?"

She smiled impishly. "My pals and I come and kill you, nab Sam here, and get one whopping reward, not to mention get back our…nightly entertainment. It'll be dinner and a show." Her gaze lingered on Sam, who tried to stare defiantly back, but defiance and anger were not able to mask fear. His hands balled into fists. Meg giggled and looked at Dean and Cas. "But I bet he didn't tell you, did he? Sammy was just a big bundle of fun for us. Not like that other brother of yours, oh no. Michael will still hardly let Lucifer come near _him_. It's pathetic, honestly. He's never getting out, he should just give it up."

"Shut up," Sam said.

Meg ignored him. "But you know, I bet little Adam's got nothing on Sam anyway. You think Alastair's fun? Where do you think he learned it from? I'd say Daddy is so much more creative. Screwing with space and _time_, and what with Sammy being his vessel, he got real imaginative when it came to working from…let's say from the _inside out._ And all of us…well, we couldn't come into the cage, but he liked to let us come right up to the bars and watch." She closed her eyes and grinned. "Damn, the things I learned...Oh, it was great. 'Cept the screaming. That got a little obnoxious after awhile."

Dean felt sick by the time she'd finished this little speech. _Time_? What did she mean "time"? And _from the inside out…_ "You bitch," he growled.

"Yeah, fair enough," she said. "But we're coming for you, Sam." She turned on her heel and started to walk off. "If I were you, I wouldn't try running. See you when the sun goes down. And don't try to shoot me, Dean, you'll regret it," she added over her shoulder.

"Is it true?" Dean asked. He was sitting in a chair in their room, the only safe haven they had for now, and Sam was perched on the edge of his bed, twirling the hilt of Ruby's knife back and forth between his palms. Cas lurked in a corner once more, furious and helpless to do a thing about it: it turned out Meg was right, they couldn't go anywhere. The second she'd disappeared, they'd begun to smell smoke, and discovered to their dismay that the entire grounds of the motel were now encircled in an enormous ring of holy fire—they must've poured the circle right under Cas's nose the night before. At that point Cas had started shouting out some four-letter words that Dean was positive he'd never heard Cas utter before. Profanity wasn't Cas's forte, even when he was trying (as evidenced by such terms as "ass-butt"), but if ever there was a time for it, it was now. Now Cas couldn't get out, and neither could Dean and Sam, as the flames burned more than ten feet high in some parts of the circle. How the demons had acquired that much oil was beyond them, but by now they past the point of being surprised by much of anything.

"What?" Sam said absently.

"Is it true?" Dean persisted. "What Meg said about the cage." He didn't want to know, but at the same time he felt like he needed to know, and oh man, was he ever gonna kill Meg dead for this…

The knife stopped twirling. He was silent for a moment. Then, "More or less." He didn't look up.

_Oh God... _No wonder then that the second Sam got back he wanted to take off and be a million billion miles away from everyone and everything. Of course he couldn't default on his general emo, nauseating way of "talking things out," which had been his solution to every problem he'd faced for the majority of his life. But not when there were no words to describe where he'd been. And a world full of people who couldn't even begin to fathom it. Nor could he use his other mode of "dealing", the one that Ruby had twisted around her little finger and perfected—getting angry. Getting violent. Neither reaction was possible when there was no spirit left in you to fight an enemy that could never be defeated anyway. At least when Dean had come back from the Pit, he'd pulled himself back together well enough to be rightly pissed off about the whole thing and try to fight back somehow. And if Sam, Sam who'd proven himself stronger of will than the _devil_, couldn't put the pieces of himself back together again, and was sitting here right now resigned to the possibility of getting cast right back down again… If those bastards had truly, once-and-for-all _broken_ the same guy who'd beaten them all and stopped the damn _apocalypse_, Dean could hardly bear to think about what they must have done to him. A barely-audible "I'm sorry" was all Dean could manage.

Sam nodded once. It seemed to say both "yeah, me too" and "thank you" at the same time.

"And Adam?" he asked.

"Still stuck. But safe, like she said. Or at least as long as Michael holds out." He sounded bitter. _And God, who wouldn't be? _Dean thought. Being subjected to God-knows-what while knowing that your sibling's sitting right next to you, completely untouched, with an _angel_ on his shoulder…

Silence fell between them. Dean shifted uncomfortably in the chair. There had to be something he could do to help make this right. Not that he had any brilliant ideas so far, except the overwhelming urge to rip the lid off Hell and strangle Lucifer with his bare hands.

"I don't wanna go back there…" Sam said quietly after awhile, his voice dead. Dean knew that the part of that statement that had been left unsaid was …_but there's nothing I can do about it._

And at that moment, Dean knew there was one thing left that he could do. "Then don't," he said. "Simple as that." Broken beyond repair or not, if this was still the same Sam who'd cussed him out when he'd woken him up this morning, or gotten ridiculously starry-eyed over the thought of Dean wanting a kid that Sam didn't hardly know to go to college someday, then this was still his brother. He wasn't going to let him give up that easy. If Sam had no willpower left in him, that was fine—Dean would just have to have enough willpower for the both of them. And if they were both going down, it wouldn't be without giving these sons of bitches the fight of their lives, he'd make sure of it.

"What-?" Sam looked confused.

Dean stood, and motioned for Sam to do the same. "Come on. Let's see how rusty you've gotten at fighting left-handed." He smirked. "Betcha can't kick my ass, slowpoke." Much to Dean's relief, Sam took the bait. And it turned out that Sam _could _kick his ass. His reflexes were a bit slower with his left hand, but a few short minutes of sparring and Sam had Dean pinned to the floor with the knife at his throat. Dean noticed that Sam's eyes were devoid of all except grim determination as they sparred, but that was okay by him—at least he was motivated by _something_, and for now, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-Hell motivation was way better than no motivation at all. Sam held out a hand to help Dean off the floor, and Dean took it, laughing. "Well done, young Paduan. Ha, I bet half those demons will run screaming into the night the second they feast their eyes on you. You're terrifying. Right, Cas?"

Cas didn't answer.

"Cas?"

"What?" He snapped out of his apparently engrossing staring contest with the wall, looking flustered. "Oh, um, sure."

"You weren't paying attention."

He still looked distracted. "No, I wasn't. I apologize, my thoughts were….elsewhere."

Oh great, his thoughts were _elsewhere. _Never a good sign. "What's up, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Never mind. It's…of little consequence to the matter at hand."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked.

"I'm sure."

Something about Cas's tone still didn't sit well with Dean, but he pushed the thought aside for the time being. "Well, now's not the time for brooding about the grand problems of the cosmos, Cas. We kinda got a more local problem here."

"I noticed," Cas said tightly.

"Yeah, well, we gotta be ready."

"Speaking of that," Sam began. "Cas, if you're stuck inside the circle, we know you can't just beam your way back up to Heaven, right?"

"Correct…"

"Yeah, but do you think you could maybe…call upon any other angels to come and help us out?" Sam asked. And Dean's heart lightened at the thought. Other angels…he hadn't even considered that.

Cas's face darkened. "In theory."

"What do you mean, 'In theory'?" Dean asked, not liking his tone.

Cas's shoulders drooped. "They wouldn't listen to me."

"Well you don't know 'till you try, do you?" Dean snapped.

But apparently he struck a nerve, because Cas pretty much exploded at them then. "You don't think I already _did_?" Cas growled. "I _tried_, Dean. God knows I did. The second I found Sam again, I tried."

"And they said no?"

"Of course they said no." He sounded disgusted. "As you know, Heaven is in a state of complete and total anarchy, and we are right upon the precipice of a—" He shook his head, apparently thinking better of divulging too much information to them, but his voice was escalating with poorly suppressed rage. "My point is, I can barely manage to get any of my brothers and sisters to listen to me at all, because they are all too busy bowing down before…"

"Before who, Cas?" Dean demanded.

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell it doesn't."

"Fine. It doesn't matter _right now._ But those who support me are not nearly so eager to support the two of you. The vast majority of the heavenly host hates you for thwarting the Apocalypse."

"Well that just figures, doesn't it," Dean muttered. Sam swore.

"And even those who may sympathize with you would not listen when I said that I needed their help. They feel that it would not be within their best interests to associate themselves with you. The cowards." Cas looked beyond angry…it was obvious that in his eyes, this was betrayal of the lowest sort.

"Alright, uh…anyone got a plan B?" Dean asked with false bravado.

Sam gestured around the room with a rueful smile. "You're lookin' at it."

"That does seem to be the case," Cas muttered.

"Wait…" Dean said. He didn't really want to spend too much time dwelling on this possibility himself, or even mentioning it in front of Sam right now, but it was too important a question to be left unasked. "Look, even if things do go south tonight and…" he gulped, "they, uh, take Sam, who's to say they can shove him back in the box anyway? Meg was saying that even she and her pals couldn't worm their way in, so…"

"That's because he didn't let them in," Sam said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Lucifer might be stuck in the trap, but that doesn't mean that he can't let things from the outside come to him. But he thinks demons are filth, remember? So yeah, he let them watch…but mostly so he could have an audience." He took a deep breath before continuing, struggling to keep his face carefully blank. "So they were only out because he wanted it that way. And if they dragged me back down…"

"They'd toss you right back in." Dean felt nauseous.

"Yeah."

"Okay, so…all we gotta do is beat their sorry asses right back to Hell before they can lay a finger on you."

"We don't even know who 'they' are yet," Cas reminded them grimly.

Dean nodded. "Which is why we bring the fight to us. Make 'em duke it out on our turf."

"What turf?" Sam asked incredulously. "This room?"

"Yup, looks like it."

"Look, Cas is right. We don't even know what we're up against here! Demons, hellhounds, monsters, and who the hell knows what else."

"And whatever big uglies they do throw at us," Dean explained patiently, "How many of 'em do you think can cram themselves into this room? We're better off here than out in the open."

"He's right," Cas said. He gestured at the symbols he'd painted on the wall. "Although truthfully I don't know how long those will last."

Dean shrugged. "Better here than the parking lot."

Sam plopped himself back down on the bed. "I guess."

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

**The Lesser of Two Evils  
Part Five **

**[Second-to-last chapter, guys. And Hodgerhosen, here's your movie reference…] **

As it turned out, Meg made good on her word. The rest of their day was quiet. Much too quiet.

That is, until the sun went down.

But the intermittent hours were some of the longest of Dean's life. He'd later regret spending as much of that time as he did sitting around in tense silence.

They did spend some of the day in a futile attempt at brainstorming, just so that they could all pretend that they were doing something other than passively awaiting Sam's apparent death sentence. At one point, Dean had asked, "So what if we get lucky and the holy fire goes out. This part of the country, you know, lots of random-ass summer storms all the time, it could happen. Then what?"

"Then presumably we escape," Cas said.

"Escape to where?" Sam asked.

"Bobby," Dean said promptly. "We should've while we had the chance, and not bothered with a phone."

"Yeah, except that if we poofed into his living room unannounced, he'd probably shoot first and ask questions later," Sam said sullenly.

Dean waved a dismissive hand. Now Sam was just making excuses. "Eh, that's what we got Cas for. For now I'm more worried about getting us there at all. Even staring down the barrel of a gun at us, better him than our pals downstairs."

Sam actually laughed a little. "You sure about that?"  
Dean smiled wryly. "No. But odds are he'll send about half those S.O.B's running back with their tails between their legs just by scowling at them, so I'll take my chances."

"Dean," Cas began. He was wearing that infuriating wrinkly-forehead-lips-smushed-together-_something's-wrong_ face.

"What?"  
"I'm not certain that I could get you there."

"Why?" And _why_ was he not surprised…

"That is, I'm not certain if I could get Sam there," he amended.

"But you got us here just fine," Dean protested.

"No, not…'just fine.' That gas station from last night is barely seventy miles from here, in New Mexico, I believe. The trip was not very far, but it was the best I could manage with the both of you. Like I said, Sam is rather…resistant to my power."

"But you did it, right?"

"Not easily, but yes."

Dean trailed his fingers down the barrel of the gun that rested in his hands. "So just do what you did, but try harder."  
Cas glared. "I can't."  
"Alright, fine." Nope, not surprising in the least. But something occurred to him. "Wait, why could you move him then but not fix his wrist?"

"There's a difference between moving a body and profoundly altering its physical state," he explained grimly. "Even a demon I could transport, in theory, but not heal. It would be working against the…natural order of things, and anyhow you know I tried. I'm sorry."

Dean bristled a bit at his comparing Sam to a demon, but let it go. Cas did try. "Awesome."

"Really, I am sorry."

"I know." He hopped up and paced back and forth. "So…back to the friggin' drawing board."

"So it would appear."

"Right. Okay, so it's demons we're up against for the most part, you guys think."

Sam shrugged. "That's what it's been every other time. So here's hoping Meg's all talk, but…looks like they're trying a lot harder now, if the invisible Enochian symbols are any indication."

He was right, Dean knew, but… Demons. Demons they could deal with. He'd focus on that for now. "Alright, well, if it's demons, simple. We just gank 'em right at the door. 'Cept if they got guns. Then we duck."

"Sounds good." Sam didn't sound entirely convinced, Dean noted, but at least he was going along with it. Which was all Dean could ask of him, for now.

"And it'd help to get all And-Shepherds-We-Shall-Be-Et-Spiritus-Sancti on their asses, too," Dean added, rummaging through his bag in the hopes of finding some more paint, because Sam had used up almost all of his for Cas's symbols. But most of his stuff was still locked up in the cabinet in the garage or the trunk of the Impala, hundreds of miles away.

"What?" Cas frowned.

"He means an exorcism," Sam explained, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

"Well I'm fairly certain that isn't how it goes…"  
"Never mind."

It turned out there wasn't any more paint. Cas suggested using blood to draw the demon traps instead, but Dean scowled and held up a Sharpie. No blood was happening today if he could help it.

They ended up Sharpie-ing a big one on the ceiling and the ceiling of the bathroom, as well as two hidden ones on the box springs of the beds. As they worked on them, Sam seemed to want to talk for the first time since Meg had shown up, suddenly very interested once again to know about Lisa and Ben and what Dean had been up to for the last two months. Dean had wanted to say something to the effect of, _Well it sucked out loud 'cause I thought you were dead, thanks for asking. _But he refrained from that and said instead only stuff that he thought Sam would want to hear, having realized with a jolt that Sam probably thought this would be the last opportunity they would get to talk to each other.

But Dean had plenty to say anyway. The little stuff, like the way Lisa made the best spaghetti he'd ever tasted, or liked to watch Comedy Central at three in the morning if she couldn't sleep, or got those adorable dimples when she laughed. Or the way Ben had somehow recently gotten it into his head that the ladies would find him more badass if he used a ton of hair gel, or the way that he had slipped up and called Dean "Dad" twice. So yeah, he'd spent the last two months grieving, but at least he was with people who he was growing to love. And that seemed to make Sam happy, if the stupid grin on his face while Dean was explaining all of this was any indication.

The symbols drawn, they had literally nothing else to do but wait. And shove down some chips they'd found in another vending machine on the other side of the motel, and more Coke. Sam didn't want to eat anything at first, but ate a few chips when Dean goaded him.

And the little red numbers on the alarm clock kept changing. 6PM, 7PM, 7:30, and the shadows in the parking lot grew longer. And deceptive calm of the day stretched on and on.

But at 8:46 PM, the summer sun finally vanished completely beyond the flat horizon. The room went dark, and all three of them held their breaths. Sam stood up and flicked the lights on.

And that's when the door handle started rattling.

Sam shut his eyes for a fraction of a second and then opened them again, reaching for Ruby's knife. Dean loaded his gun. As they'd planned, Cas went to the door, making sure he'd be the first to greet whatever was behind it. He had his sword at the ready: initially, Dean didn't like the idea of Cas fighting with the only weapon on the planet that could actually kill him in case the demons got ahold of it during the fray and used it on him, but Sam said he knew for a fact that Lucifer had taken Gabriel's sword after killing him, and if any of the demons showed up with it, it'd be better if Cas had his own to defend himself. Dean didn't want to know how Sam knew that, and didn't ask.

Dean made Sam position himself against the wall between the beds.

"You ready?" Dean asked him, moving to stand in front of him. If the bastards wanted Sam, they'd have to go through him first. As per usual.

"No." Sam looked at the floor.

He smiled bitterly but put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Yeah, me either. Look at it this way, though. Whatever happens, let's make sure we whup their sorry asses for what they did to you. Sound good?"

Sam attempted a smile in return. "Yeah."

The doorknob went on rattling. Cas looked doubtfully down at the salt line that stretched across the threshold. Yeah, that wasn't going to last long. With the Enochian language apparently on their side, they'd probably power through Cas's symbols too.

After that, Dean hardly had time to blink before the door burst open and slammed hard into the wall.

And before they knew it, the room was full of them.

Cas tried to stop as many of them as he could at the door—and did a pretty damn good job of it—alternately hacking or stabbing and putting a hand to their foreheads to kill them in a blaze of brilliant white light—but they just kept coming. And they didn't seem that phased by the symbols or the salt—they slowed down a little at the doorway, but enough of them piled in one after the other that Dean thought they might've overcome it by sheer number alone. God, twenty, thirty of them…

And yes, they did have guns, but those who had them found out pretty quick that guns weren't such a great idea. Anytime they tried to shoot, Cas would deflect the shot or step in front of it, and apparently, getting shot _really _pissed Cas off. He'd vanish and reappear in front of the offender, snapping their arm so it stuck out at a sickening angle, and they'd drop the gun and not bother to retrieve it.

And soon Dean and Sam were both occupied with all-out brawling with those who made it past Cas. Dean stuck close to Sam, which worked to their advantage as Dean was able to disarm and hold a demon while Sam dealt a fatal blow with his knife. As he watched the bodies pile up around them, Dean vaguely and morbidly wondered where the demons had found all these poor bastards in the first place—he'd bet anything that some of them were the missing guests from the occupied motel rooms the night before—and how the hell they'd gotten past the wall of fire outside. Probably more Enochian stuff, or mojo of a more sinister persuasion.

Exorcisms were out of the question. Even between the three of them, it was damn near impossible to keep up a constant, uninterrupted stream of Latin chanting up while they were fighting for their lives. It worked only once, but it hadn't been nearly strong enough to do much damage, and Dean had a sinking suspicion that the two demons they'd banished would just worm their way back somehow and try to kill them all over again wearing another innocent person's face.

On the bright side, no hellhounds. For now, at least.

No Meg, either.

Which meant if these guys didn't kill them now, there was bound to be a round two.

But for now, things were going well. The demons thinned out, stopped pouring through the door so quickly. So far so good. Nobody was dead. Dean thought one of his fingers might be sprained, but he was good other than that. All in all, he'd say they were spectacularly lucky. And watching Sam, he realized that he'd been right in telling Sam to get these guys back for messing with him. He threw himself into the fighting a little more recklessly than Dean would've liked, and he didn't really listen when Dean kept yelling at him to stay behind him, but the ferocity and hatred that shone in Sam's eyes as he hacked and slashed his way through a whole mess of demons by Dean's side convinced him that he hadn't needed to worry about Sam having no will left to protect himself. Obviously, if Sam thought he was going to lose this fight, he'd make sure they lost it, too.

There were only three or four of them left, and no more pouring through the door, when it happened. Dean would curse himself later for letting relief at their apparent victory make him complacent, but in reality it had been an accident. Rotten luck. Dean had disarmed a demon that was possessing a big, burly guy who was nearly Sam's height, and had its arms twisted behind its back at a painful angle in preparation for Sam to run it through with his knife. But Sam was surprised by a second demon right before he got the chance to off the first one. It gave the first demon the chance to let his weight throw both of them down onto the bed that was right below them, and while on the bed it was able to wrestle its way out of Dean's grip and catch him by the throat.

"Sam…" Dean managed to choke out, trying to get Sam's attention before his windpipe was crushed.

Sam was still locked in combat with the second demon, who seemed to be annoyingly persistent and a more skilled fighter than many of the others. Once the second the demon was finally dead, and the poor woman who'd been possessed bleeding out on the rug from her slashed throat, Sam wheeled around and flung himself at the larger one. He would've stabbed it in the back, but it turned, letting Dean go, reached over, and grabbed Sam hard by his broken wrist before he could bring the knife down. Sam roared in pain, and the demon took advantage of his distraction to snatch the knife out of his slack left hand and plunge it into his side.

Dean's "No!" was weak and wheezy, and he coughed as he launched himself upward off the bed. He tried to fling himself at the demon, but almost having all the air squeezed out of him left him dizzy and gasping for air. Little lights popped at the edges of his vision and he almost fell right back down. But he'd be damned if this bastard was getting Sam, and he stumbled forward.

But Cas saw the whole thing, and a second or two after the demon had pulled the knife back out of Sam and thrown him down, Cas appeared behind it and snapped its neck, slapping a hand over its forehead to make sure it was killed before it had the time to flee the body. As Cas turned to deal with the remaining one or two demons, Dean lurched towards his fallen brother and plopped himself down next to him, rubbing his throat and coughing some more as he tried to pull air into his lungs.

"Sam?" _Oh God oh God oh God…_

Sam had curled himself up into a fetal position, his eyes shut tight, and rocking back and forth slightly. "No," he was muttering over and over again. "No, no, no, no, no…" Both hands were pressed to his side, blood leaking through his fingers as the color leeched from his face.

"Sammy…" Dean grabbed his shoulders. "Sammy, hey, look at me." Sam shook his head tightly and whimpered.

"It's okay," he said, even though the sight of the blood pooling between Sam's fingers made him want to puke. "Sammy, it's okay," he repeated. "I'm here. I gotcha."

"No, no, no, no…" Sam continued, lifting one wet red hand up to swat Dean's arms away when Dean tried to push his convulsing shoulders down to make him lie flat. "Stop, please stop…"

And then Dean understood, and his heart took a nosedive into his stomach. He knew what was happening. Sam thought he was back in Hell, back on the rack. It'd happened to Dean himself the first time or two he'd seriously gotten his ass kicked in a hunt after he'd come back from Hell. Excruciating pain had a funny way of causing déjà vu that way. It had been Sam who had been crouching over him, confused but telling him over and over that everything was going to be okay…

"Sam, look at me," Dean said firmly, trying to get through to him. "Look at me. It's me. It's Dean. You're okay. You're not in Hell, you're with me." He gripped Sam's shoulders.

Sam cracked an eye open. "W-with you…"

"Yeah," he said. His heart constricted; Sam was terrified. And in big trouble, by the looks of it. "With me. Hey, buddy."

"Dean?"

"Yup. Sammy, I need you to relax, okay? Lay down. You're hurt pretty bad."

His shoulders sagged and he let his head fall back. "Dean…"

"Yeah. You with me, Sammy?"

He nodded tightly. He didn't resist when Dean made him lie flat on the floor, but Dean had to pry Sam's hands away from his side, which was difficult given that they were slippery with blood.

Dean hissed when he finally saw the wound. "Shit…" It was on his left side, which was good because it meant it was less likely to have hit something vital, but it was bigger than it should have been and blood was practically gushing out of it. "Think that sonofabitch twisted the hilt."

"Uh-huh," Sam breathed. He was definitely in pain, but he seemed calmer now that he'd realized he really was here with Dean and not in Hell. And again, this was probably not that bad to him compared to some of the other things he'd been through recently.

Dean, however, was anything but calm. He held it together for Sam's sake as he inspected the wound and then grabbed a twisted sheet off the nearest bed and pressed it to his side, but this was very, very far from okay. Sam needed a hospital, now, or he probably wasn't gonna pull through this. And it wasn't like they could easily get to one right now.

"Cas?" he called behind him. Somewhere during the last minute or so, the sounds of fighting had died away, and Dean knew they'd won, for now.

"Yes." Cas appeared next to them. There was blood on his face and his coat. He looked down at Sam, and his eyes widened.

"Help me out here. We gotta get him onto a bed."

"Yes." Cas bent down and reached towards Sam's forehead, but Dean shoved his arm away.

"No, not like that. Help me lift him." He didn't know if Sam's body could handle Cas's transport-_whoosh-_thing right now.

"Right." And together, they managed to get him onto the bed farthest from the door. Sam's face was quickly going as white as the pillows under his head, but he was staring steadily off into the distance, and Sam recognized yet another habit he would've picked up from Hell. It was something that he himself had in grim humor referred to as "counting sheep": staring off into space and retreating deep into your own mind so that the pain wouldn't get to you so bad. And it had almost never worked. Not for him, anyway. But of course Sam would've gotten good at it. The thought broke his heart.

Dean started to reach toward his bag, but then he remembered that he had a grand total of zero medical supplies with him, and he swore. "Sam, you got a first aid kit on you, right?"

"Yeah." Sam shakily jerked a thumb in the direction of his duffel bag.

"Good." He went over to the bag and retrieved it, stepping over several bodies on the way there and almost slipping on the blood beneath his shoes. He sat on the edge of the bed. "Now I'm gonna fix this, okay?" he said, brushing the hair back from Sam's eyes and wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

Sam shook his head. "T-they're gonna come back…" And he looked scared again. Dean didn't blame him, he was definitely more aware than any of them of exactly how fucked they really were right now. But the way Sam was looking at him made it clear that he desperately hoped against hope that Dean really could fix this.

And damned if that didn't mean that Dean was gonna fix it or die trying.

He popped open the first aid kit and started laying things out next to him. Disinfectant, needle, thread, water bottle, scissors, painkillers, gauze. Fortunately, Sam hadn't been so much of an idiot over the past few months that he'd let go of his habit of maintaining the obnoxiously large first aid kit that had proven to be so helpful to them over the years. This wasn't the first time a motel bed had become an operating table, not in their line of work.

"D-dean, I m-m-mean it," Sam continued to protest as Dean started cleaning the wound. "N-now they know they g-got me, they're gonna…augh!" he broke off with a cry as Dean started in with the rubbing alcohol, but persisted his argument when Dean ignored him. "They'll s-s-send more now that they know they g-got me, they w-won't wait."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said calmly, and kept working. Fuck. This was deeper than he thought, and it was bleeding too damn much for him to see if it had clipped anything inside. Judging by all the blood, probably.

"No. We g-gotta be ready. They'll k-kill you too."

"We will be ready," he said, squeezing Sam's elbow lightly. "And they won't kill me, that's what Cas is here for. They do, then I'll just come back feelin' better than ever and twice as pissed, and kill 'em all dead." The irony of the words struck him as they came out of his mouth and almost snorted. Sam was the one bleeding out, and here Dean was assuring him that he himself was going to be okay if they got attacked again. "Okay?"

Sam looked like he was going to protest, but as Dean pressed a disinfectant-soaked gauze pad to the wound once again, he went even paler and his eyes screwed shut. "Okay."

Sam was right though, they did need to be ready. Dean turned around and faced Cas, who was perched awkwardly on the other bed and watching the proceedings with an unfathomable expression. He hadn't bothered to wipe the blood from his face. "Hey Cas, you think any part of the circle might've burned out yet?"  
"I can check." His brow furrowed in intense concentration for a moment, and he sighed and slumped forward a little. Dean knew he'd just tried to transport. "No. We are still…stuck here."

"Yeah, I figured." He did his best to keep the panic out of his voice. Sam wasn't getting to a hospital anytime soon… "Well, uh, we should get these bodies out of the way, I guess," Dean said, gesturing with a sticky red hand around the room at large. "Can you, uh, I dunno, stick 'em in the bathroom or something? I'd say go out and burn 'em, but you shouldn't be hanging out by the fire."

"Alright." Cas reached down towards the nearest body, the host of the demon who'd stabbed Sam.

"Wait," Sam said. He was looking down at another body that lay on the other side of the bed, a woman who was sprawled out in the middle of a huge pool of her own blood. "D-don't move 'em yet. I h-have an idea."


	6. Chapter 6

**The Lesser of Two Evils**

**Part Six**

**A/N: I lied. One more chapter to go after this. Thank you to deeplyshallow, hodgerhosen, and L100Meganium for their support. Love you guys! And TrueLoveFan, who's gonna hate me for this, but I love her anyway.**

Dean followed his gaze to the body. "What kind of idea?" He was already pretty sure he knew what the idea was, and pretty damn sure that whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

"I can kill 'em."

"Really." Dean crossed his arms. "'Cause it's looking like you oughta stay put. In fact, you try to get up, I'll deck you." Yeah, empty threat, but the sentiment was there.

Sam raised an eyebrow and frowned. The expression would've looked totally, familiarly obnoxious if he wasn't so awfully pale. "Y-you know what I mean."

"Oh yeah?"

"The b-blood, Dean."  
…Shit.

"No."

"D—"

"I said no. Out of the question." Of course. Leave it to Sam to think of something like _that _at a time like this…yeesh, was he trying to give him a heart attack?

"J-just listen, okay?"

"No, Sam," he barked, intentionally not looking at him as he poured out some more rubbing alcohol. "The stuff'll kill you."

Sam let out a weak, humorless chuckle. "I think it is already…t-there was a t-ton of it on the knife. I can feel it. 'S probably why it's b-bleeding so damn much."

Double shit.

Dean pressed the new gauze down and winced when it became saturated almost immediately with red. "Which is exactly why you're not getting anymore. And nobody's getting killed today, so can it."

"Yeah, n-nobody. Apparently t-that includes the demons…"

"I said can it. Look, Cas and I will figure something out. But you are not touching anymore of that stuff."

"I can do it," Sam said, obviously going for a defiant glare, but the effect was ruined by his quick, shallow breaths and a sharp hiss when Dean shifted the gauze. His head dropped back onto the pillow.

Dean ignored him and kept working, trying to think through the situation aloud as he went, hoping Sam would shut up if he didn't give him time for a word in edgewise. "Looks like it coulda hit an artery or something. Not good, but could be worse. At least it's just blood that's coming out, not somethin' uglier. I'll get you patched up for now, then if Cas and I can find a way to put out that friggin' fire…huh, maybe we could make a path through it with the bodies, make 'em useful for something…"

"I m-mean it," Sam persisted, interrupting. "I can do it."

Dean paused in his work for a moment. "Yeah, you probably could," he conceded quietly, hating that he agreed with him. Sam's stubbornness could move mountains. It was how he'd beaten Lucifer, and Dean had a sinking feeling that if Sam was given a chance now, that even if his body couldn't withstand his efforts, Sam would consider that irrelevant and not accept failure as an option. But that sure didn't mean that Dean was going to give him that chance.

"Then let me try."

"No." He was angry now. "So, what, you pick now to go all junkie on me? Because some bastard gave you a little taste of it by running you through with a bloody pigsticker, and now you're telling me you want _more_? Yeah, that'll do you a world of good." That was unfair of him, but Sam was scaring him shitless right now.

"W-what I _want _is n-not to go back to Hell, Dean."

"And what _I _want is for you not to hemorrhage and get yourself dead!" Even the times when he was at his most powerful under the influence of the blood, and did away with the most demons, the effort still left Sam completely wiped out and dizzy, and Dean couldn't remember a single time where he hadn't at the very least given himself a nosebleed and a massive headache afterwards. And that said nothing for what the withdrawal was bound to do to him, even if he didn't bleed himself dry… "Look, there's gotta be another way. We'll figure something out. But you're not doing this. Okay?"

"No, n-not okay, I—"

"You're _not doing this._ Back me up here, Cas." He glanced behind him to where Cas was still sitting on the other bed. He hadn't said a word since Sam brought it up.

"No."

"What? Why?"

"Because I disagree with you."

Great.

"And you _agree _with _him_?"

"I do." Cas' eyes were hard with resolve, but Dean noticed that he wasn't looking at Sam. "It may very well be our only way of ensuring that they will not take Sam."

Yeah. Of course it was, wasn't it. "Am I really the only one here who thinks this is a bad idea?"  
"Looks like it," Sam said tightly. "W-we screw this up and t-they attack, then y-you two die and they t-take me."

"Come on," Dean said. "This can't be a one-or-the-other-type deal. We gotta be able to do something, right?" It was what they'd been doing all their lives, MacGyver-ing their way out of impossible situations and not taking no for an answer. So why should now be any different? Except that it was the devil they were dealing with, but hadn't they done that more than once already?

"Dean, listen." Cas said slowly. "We don't even know whether these demons even need to make any sort of physical contact with Sam in order to take his soul, if he's close to death. If we have a chance to eliminate them, all of them, before they can get anywhere near him, it would be…rash of us not to take it."

"And let him kill himself trying to fight off a demon army that's god-knows-how-huge all on his own? We can't-"

"Better that than throw his soul away," Cas cut him off sharply, suddenly imposing. "Do you want that weighing on your conscience, letting your brother go to Hell because you were too much of a coward to let him take the only opportunity he had to save himself?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Cas had left him speechless, and he came to the sickening realization that he was going to lose this argument. Dean looked down at Sam, whose eyes were begging him silently to understand.

And that did it. There was no more point in putting up a fight, he was going to have to let it happen, let Sam get himself killed right in front of him, and he knew it.

That didn't mean he was happy about it.

"So say we let him try, and he wins," Dean said in a gruffer voice than normal. "And then he doesn't make it. Then what? Is he gonna haunt the fucking 'Hollywood Tower Motel' forever, Twilight Zone style?"  
"I don't know," Cas began. "There's no way to be sure—"

"You better make sure. You better make damn sure. Whatever happens, he's not getting stuck here. He can't go to Hell, but he _can't _stay here, got it?"  
"Dean—"

"_Got it?_"

"Alright," Cas said. "I will…make sure." He looked uncertain but Dean knew he'd do his best to make good on his word.

"You better. Get him where he needs to be yourself if you have to, holy fire or no holy fire."

"I will."

He turned back towards Sam. "You hear that? Whatever happens, we got you, okay? Cas'll take care of you, and I'll be right here." As he said it he thought his heart was just going to shrivel up and turn to dust, if it hadn't already. Here he was, writing off Sam as a dead man, again. That made the second time in three months. And it was made worse, so much worse, by the way Sam looked up at him and nodded, obviously afraid but trusting him nonetheless.

Every fiber of him was screaming no, this was wrong, he couldn't do this, his spirit and his sanity wouldn't survive it, he couldn't just let Sam die all over again.

Except he had to.

So he turned to the only means of dealing that he could think of:

Do something. Do _anything._ Just don't stand still, don't stop long enough to see that your hands are tied, and you aren't really getting anywhere…

And right now, _doing something _took the form of sitting Sam up and with Cas's help binding the wound up as tightly as they could, because they didn't have any time to spare on stitching him up, and then picking his way across the corpse-strewn floor to seek out the bodies that had lost the least amount of blood. Ideally, they were those whose necks had been snapped, who hadn't shed a drop. During all of it, Dean tried desperately to just focus on _what _he was doing, and not why he was doing it. Sam looked on silently, and to Dean it looked like he was trying to stave off unconsciousness. It diminished what little hope he still had left in the whole situation to see Sam already fading fast.

A few minutes later he found himself with Ruby's knife in hand, still sticky with Sam's blood, making cuts in the places Sam directed him to in the body of some 30-something-year-old woman with a snapped spinal cord. Pulse points—her neck, her wrists. As he did it, he was having a hard time believing that it was actually him with this knife in his hand, slicing this woman open so that his brother could drink her dry. It was absurd, and horrific, and worse, it was probably going to get Sammy killed…. When he finished, he draped the body over Sam as un-awkwardly as he could and without jostling the wound too much. He stood back, shuffled his feet, and looked down at Sam expectantly, ignoring the vacant, staring eyes of the dead woman. Sam looked down at the neck of her body, which was right beneath his chin, and then back up at Dean. He looked ashamed, apologetic.

"I'm s-sorry," he managed.

"Don't be. Gotta do what you gotta do, right?" Dean attempted a smile, he was pretty sure it came out as a grimace.

Sam gulped. "Hey, uh… In c-case there's not time, y'know, afterwards…I j-just…"

"There will be," Dean cut him off. "There'll be time." Uh-uh, _that _wasn't happening. He couldn't handle any melodramatic death speeches, not now. If Sam even tried that, Dean knew that every ounce of his resolve to let him do this would go right down the toilet.

Sam nodded, glanced down at the body, and then back at Dean and Cas. "L-look, can you guys not…watch?"

"Sure thing." Dean wheeled around to face the wall; Cas did likewise. Neither of them moved any farther from the bed; if Sam wanted them to actually go away while he was doing "the deed", well tough. He shouldn't have been surprised by the request—Sam had asked the same thing right before he'd faced down Lucifer. But at this point, he hardly thought it mattered anymore, and Sam was an idiot if he really thought that Dean was going to think any less of him for it, and especially now, how could he. Time was of the essence, though, so they humored him.

Dean spent the next several minutes staring intently at the faded wallpaper, his hands shoved in his pockets, pretending he couldn't hear the awful wet slurping noises coming from behind him. He started when he heard Sam's voice, much steadier than it had been, saying, "Another one. I need another one."

Dean turned back around. The body, its skin now translucent and papery white, was limp in Sam's arms, and he had blood all over his face. He looked away when Dean looked at him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

_Another one _turned out to be the body of the guy who'd stabbed him in the first place. Dean didn't like it, but his was the only body left they could see who hadn't lost any of its blood during the fight. And by the time Sam had finished him off, some of the lost color had returned to his skin. He was trying to wipe away the blood smeared across his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean immediately plopped himself down next to him, unceremoniously shoving the body off his brother and rolling it onto the floor. He wedged himself between Sam and the wall, and helped him sit up, propping Sam up against him as gently as he could.

"I can sit up on my own now," Sam protested halfheartedly, his head on Dean's shoulder.

"Yeah, probably, but you don't need to prove it, alright? Here," he added, pushing Sam's hand back down when he lifted it to try to wipe the rest of the blood off his face. "I got it." He grabbed the water bottle and an unbloodied corner of the sheet and finished the job. Sam didn't protest.

"How are you feeling?" Cas asked. He kept shooting furtive looks at the door, even though while Dean had been tending to Sam he'd already gone around and re-salted the doors and windows and reinforced all the marks, this time in his own blood because he'd explained that he didn't "trust" the Sharpie or something like that. It was a fair enough point, though; Dean was pretty sure he'd seen a few of the demons retreat out from under the trap to the corners of the room. That shouldn't have been possible, but again, nothing surprised him anymore, not today.

"Better," Sam said. "Pretty good, actually." Not that Sam sounded too thrilled about "pretty good", but "pretty good" was good, right?

"Good. That will work to our advantage."

"Yeah, hopefully," Sam said. Dean felt him fidget against him.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked, now glancing at the door and windows himself. The night outside was silent once more.

"There, ah, isn't one," Cas said. "That's up to Sam. I presume he knows better than us what needs to be done."

"Uh, yeah…" Sam sat himself up a little straighter and looked around the room. "I guess…just pile the bodies against the wall or something, out of the way, and then…" He looked up at the trap on the ceiling, now shiny with Cas's blood. "We should get out from under this thing, maybe over there." He gestured vaguely at the little hallway-alcove-thing behind them and off their left that led to the bathroom. "I wanna stand up, it'll be easier that way."

"No, you—" Dean began.

"Then help me, okay?"

"But—"

"Please?"

"Fine." Might as well go with it, right? No sense arguing, they were screwed anyway. He felt like crying.

"And we'll just let 'em pile in, I guess," Sam continued. "We should get rid of the salt lines. They'll all cram themselves in, and get caught under the trap…uh, hopefully… and then I can get rid of 'em. 'Cept if they bring Hellhounds, of course, and here's hoping they don't."

"Like I said, I doubt it," Cas added. "They wouldn't hazard it, it's too delicate a situation. Which means we might have a chance here, because Lucifer is likely to forego more effective weapons to make sure nothing goes wrong here."

"Alright," Dean said. It sounded like a good enough plan, when he didn't think about the blood aspect. Simple. Straightforward. And all they had right now. "Think Meg will show?" Dean felt a little better about the whole situation when he envisioned ramming Sam's knife through Meg's sorry little hide over and over and over…

"Probably not." Sam made a face. "Even if they think the hard part's done, this here's the grunt work. She wouldn't risk her own ass. And we killed all her friends here. Don't think she'll be too eager to rush into the front lines."

Dean shrugged. "Pity."

Even hopped up on the blood, Sam really couldn't stand on his own, and it had taken several minutes for Dean to ease him off the bed and over to the spot he'd pointed out. Dean was propping him up, and they were facing the motel door. The knife was loose in Sam's hand. Cas stood over by the door, ready to break the salt line when the time was right. None of them said a word—the three of them held a collective breath against the deceptive silence of the night.

But as the minutes crept by and he found himself supporting more and more of Sam's weight, Dean started wondering if he ought to ignore Sam's insistence that he stand up and let him try his luck sitting on the floor, because a load of good it would do them if Sam passed out on them now.

And that was when the doorknob started rattling, for the second time that night.

Cas looked at Sam, who nodded once. Cas hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then broke the salt line with the toe of his shoe. In an instant, he vanished and reappeared at their side, drawing his sword. Bracing himself, Dean adjusted his grip on Sam.

Another ten seconds and the door flew open.

Ten…fifteen…and then some piled into the room. But apparently blood, even angel blood, made for a more effective trap than Sharpie had. And Sam was ready for them.

Sam raised his right hand. Dean couldn't see his face, but he could feel Sam's muscles straining and shuddering and that he was starting to sweat. But it was working: almost all of them stopped dead, fear and shock apparent in their wide eyes, and some fell to their knees. Sam's arm faltered, and Dean grabbed it and held it up, avoiding the wrist as best he could.

Then the screaming started, as the ones closest to him were burned up in white light from the inside out, and then slumped over, lifeless. By the looks of it, all these people had been dead to begin with, or else these demons had just ridden them too hard and too fast. It made Dean all the more eager to see the bastards burn.

Sam was doing one hell of a job of it, judging by the body count, but they just kept coming, and he was getting weaker. Soon Dean was supporting almost all his weight, and he had a nasty feeling that if he could see the bandage, it'd be soaked through by now.

By the time there were about four of them left and they'd stopped coming through the door, Sam couldn't hold out any longer. His hand dropped and his knees buckled, and Dean had to catch him and lower him to the carpet before he pitched forward and smacked the ground face-first. He was all dead-weight, probably unconscious. "Cas!" he barked, and Cas rushed forward to eliminate the remaining demons.

And eliminate them he did, and in record time, too. Dean tried to shield Sam as best he could, which wasn't easy given that Sam's excessively long frame was mostly stretched out on the floor, and watched as Cas took the remaining demons out, Snake-Eyes-style, with his sword. Dean almost laughed at that. Nerd-angel? Make that ninja-nerd-angel.

Once finished, Cas sheathed his sword in an absurdly nonchalant manner, disappeared, and reappeared standing over them. "Is he alright?" He was looking down at Sam.

Dean looked down at his brother and gulped. "Uh…no, I don't think so." Sam's skin was bone-white once more, blood trickling from his nose and mouth. He was barely breathing, and the stain on the bandage was spreading, the blotch of scarlet growing larger and larger by the second. "Here, help me."

With Cas's help he moved him to the nearest bed. Feeling sick, Dean put a hand on the side of Sam's face. The skin was hot to his touch. "Sammy?" _Don't die on me, please don't die on me... _He shook his shoulder. Sam didn't stir. "Shit," Dean murmured. He looked up at Cas, who was looking somberly down at Sam's still form. "We gotta use Sam's phone, call an ambulance," he told Cas, but he knew it wasn't any use. They wouldn't get past the fire in time, and Sam didn't like he was going to last that long without help. But Cas didn't object, and turned to find Sam's phone to make the call.

Dean tried again. "Sam?" He wrung Sam's hand. "Sammy?" Still nothing. "God, Sammy, don't do this…"

Cas returned a moment later. "No reception."

"'Course not," Dean muttered, beginning to peel back the now sopping wet bandage. He was going to have to stitch Sam up, stat, or he wasn't going to stand a chance. "Can you, uh, salt the door?"

"I would, but we're out of salt. Tend to him, I'll watch the door. We should have some time. If they come back at all, they should need awhile to regroup." He looked back down at Sam. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. And he looked it, too—he looked just about heartbroken. "But it was the only way to—"

"Shut up." _Sorry _didn't change the fact that Sam was dying, and he didn't wanna hear it. "I get it. Just…" He peeled the bandage all the way off. Cas sat back down on the other bed, and didn't try to say anything else.

When Dean pressed the corner of a bath towel to the wound to dry it off enough so he could see where he was stitching, Sam stirred, groaning softly.

"Sammy?" The name came out as a near-sob of relief.

"Mm…" His eyes slid open, unfocused. "Ugggh…D-dean?" It came out as a hoarse, wet whisper.

"Yeah." He ducked his head into Sam's immediate line of vision. "Hey there."

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a gurgling wheeze. Dean realized the problem immediately, and with a heavy heart he helped angle Sam onto his side enough so that he could cough out a mouthful of blood onto the pillow.

"Better?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Here." He slid himself behind Sam and leaned him up against him for the second time that night, keeping the towel pressed to his side. It didn't do much for the bleeding, but at least Sam could breathe. He'd have to re-negotiate things while he was doing the stitching. "Cas, would you grab all that crap I left over on the bedside table?"

"Dean, d-don't…" Sam spat a second mouthful of blood onto the knee of Dean's jeans. "Don't bother, I—"

"Shut your trap. Let me deal with this, okay?"

"Okay." He sagged against Dean once more.

Cas came back over, a needle and thread and various other first aid supplies in his hands, and dumped them at the foot of the bed. Dean started easing himself out from behind Sam and grabbing pillows to prop up behind him in his stead. Sam looked up at Cas. "Y-you said, you were gonna t-take me? Y'know, if…"

Cas shut his eyes for a brief moment. "Yes."

"B-but the fire—"

Dean paused in the intricate process of scooting himself off the bed to look up at Cas too. "Yeah, about that," he said. _Damn it._ That was a good question.

Cas' gaze flicked between Dean and Sam, and he looked like he was in the process of quick thinking. "I…may have an idea about that."

_**To be continued…**_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Lesser of Two Evils**

**Part Seven**

**A/N: Final part! And first completed multichapter Supernatural story, so...yay for me, I guess! All reviewers get virtual lemon creme pie from me, because I'd really like to know what you think of it. **

"I…may have an idea about that."

"Go on."

"I don't know if you will like it. In fact, I think I can guarantee that you will not."

"We're listening."

"As I said, Heaven is now in a state bordering on anarchy. Very few of us seem to be trying to rectify the situation and restore some semblance of order. It has been…difficult, very difficult, to say the least, to get any of my brethren to so much as listen to me, let alone follow me, excepting a select few from my garrison, and I could use some…"

"Some what?"

"Some assistance."

"From… From who? Sam?" _Oh. Wow…_ Dean didn't know if he liked the sound of that.

"If he's willing."

"R-really?" Sam asked. Unbelievably, he looked…sort of happy. Relieved, definitely. "You c-can do that?"  
"I believe so. If a demon could take you to Hell, where your soul does not rightfully belong, by force, then it should be no more difficult for me to bring you to Heaven. Sending you to my garrison…well, your soul, anyway…may be the only way I can ensure you will reach Heaven safely."

Dean frowned at him. "But he'd be okay, right? Safe? I mean, if he winds up tagging along with you up there?"

"I would do my best to keep him safe, yes. I can promise you that. And besides, unlike an angel, a human soul cannot be killed in Heaven. Suffer harm, maybe, but…"

"_Harm?" _Yeah, Dean _really _didn't know if he liked the sound of this plan.

"Yes. However, I have a…theory…about Sam, and what might happen should he choose to accompany me."

"Which is…?"

"His is no ordinary human soul. For the same reason that the demons would literally have to drag him down to Hell and I might have to drag him…up, I believe that his spirit may show the same sort of resilience in the face of potential harm in Heaven, and those who oppose us may find it more difficult than they will anticipate to manipulate or control him." He smiled wryly. "And even if I am wrong…his reputation will precede him."

Okay, maybe Dean felt a little better now. He smiled a little in return. "They'd be scared to take him on, huh?"

"He could be a powerful ally."

"But you'd protect him?"

Cas nodded. "I swear it."

"Sound good, Sammy?" Dean asked Sam. "That's Plan B for right now." Hell, at this point, it was probably Plan A. His chest constricted painfully at the thought.

"Y-yeah. It does." Now he definitely looked relieved. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome. I'd be…honored to have your assistance."

Sam smiled.

"Okay, stitches time, buddy," Dean said abruptly, reaching for the needle. After all, he had to make sure Plan B stayed Plan B. "I'm not gonna give you an anesthetic, which is means it'll hurt like a mother if I can't find any topical stuff in here, but I need you to stay awake for me, okay?"

Sam nodded tightly. Dean approached the wound with the threaded needle, but stopped when Sam suddenly retched again, spraying Dean with drops of blood. Dean dropped the needle and took his shoulders. "Easy, Sammy, easy," he muttered, wincing as more blood leaked out of Sam's mouth. A surefire sign that something was busted up bad inside of him- he'd be willing to bet it was the demon blood that had done it, or helped it along at least- and there was no way Dean could fix that. He'd known it from the second Sam had woken up. He slid himself back behind Sam again, holding his shoulders until the coughing subsided. Yeah, maybe stitches weren't such a great idea after all, for now anyways.

Eventually they did subside, and Sam let his head fall back on Dean's shoulder. His eyes slid shut, and his breathing was wheezy and labored.

"D—"

"Yeah?"

"'M sorry…" he gasped out.

Dean's eyes burned. "Yeah well, whatever you're sorry for, don't be."

A few seconds of heavy silence passed, and then Dean heard a sharp intake of breath from Cas. He looked up. Cas was on his feet, posture stiff, eyes narrowed at the door.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Reaper. Right outside."

Fear trickled down Dean's spine and he held Sam tighter. "Well tell 'em to fuck off."

Cas's eyes didn't move from the spot. His jaw clenched.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Heaven has no authority over reapers. It won't listen to me."

"Well fake it, then. Make something up, I don't care. Just get rid of it."

"Dean—"

"Do it!"

Sam's eyes had opened. "R-reaper?" he stammered out, his breath hitching.

"Yeah. But Cas is taking care of it, don't worry," he told him.

Cas's eyes stayed fixed on the door for a moment, and then they slowly slid to a fixed spot near the foot of the bed. Dean felt Sam shudder against him. Cas drew himself up to full height, The lights started flickering, and the very air seemed to crackle with electricity. "Friend, you have no jurisdiction here," he said to something they couldn't see, his voice booming and echoing in a way that made Dean want to shove his fingers in his ears and cover his head. "You will yield this one to me and mine." He paused, as if listening. "These are uncommon circumstances, and ones that will bring you undue difficulty, you must sense that," he said. "He is not one of yours." He paused again. "Yes." He stood rigidly, as if a guardsman at its post, his eyes moving from the air in front of him and then slowly back to the door.

A second later, he sighed and let his shoulders drop, the divine power he'd cloaked himself with once more retreating back within him. He looked a little exhausted.

"He's gone," he said.

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding in. "Good."

Sam laughed weakly. "Way t-to go Cas. S-stickin' it t-to a r-reaper…"

"He gave us ten minutes," Cas said gravely. "Then he's coming back and handling the matter his way."

Dean's insides went numb. "Oh."

Sam took a deep, shaky breath. "T-ten m-m-minutes should be l-long enough."

"No," Dean said. He looked down at Sam, beseeching. "No. Sammy, you're not going out this way, not now. God, I just…I just got you back."

Sam looked devastated. "I d-don't think I h-have any s-s-say in this, Dean. I'm s-sorry."

"Dean, one way or the other, it's Sam's time," Cas said slowly.

Dean didn't trust himself to respond to that. Instead, he turned back to Sam. "You're sure that's what you want? Going with Cas?" Didn't matter that that was pretty much his only option, Dean still needed confirmation that it was going to be a good one for him.

Sam nodded once and coughed.

Dean tried to smile. "Well, I guess it beats the 'heaven' we saw, doesn't it? The never-ending walk down friggin' Memory Lane and all."

Sam's lips twitched but he didn't answer. His eyes were closed again.

"What exactly are you gonna have him doing, anyway?" Dean asked Cas.

"Negotiation," Cas said. "A diplomat of sorts, for now, and hopefully nothing more…forceful than that, though there's no way of telling how dire the situation will become. If that happens, we both know he can hold his own. But I cannot make them listen, and I need somebody who can."

"Well here's your man," Dean said. "He'll get 'em all on your side, just give him half a chance and if they don't come around he'll talk 'em all to death."

Sam snorted quietly.

"What's so funny?"

His eyes opened a fraction and he peered up at Dean. "L-lawyer."

"What?"

"'M g-gonna get to b-be a l-lawyer after all."

The sound that came out of Dean's mouth could've been a strained laugh or a stifled sob or both. "Yeah. You bet you are."

He didn't remember all too clearly what happened after that, or what he said, but he remembered talking, talking talking and talking, about nothing and everything. From Lisa and Ben again to how he'd lately been halfway considering calling Bobby to see if there were any local cases he could look into, to the hilarious encounters he'd had with various town oddballs while hanging around in the waiting room of the Temp agency, to how much he'd missed Sam all that time. This mindless chatter was as much for his own benefit as it was for Sam's, to calm them both down, though to be honest he didn't know if Sam was listening how aware he really was of his surroundings. His eyes were open, but it seemed as though he'd lost the energy to speak or even acknowledge anything Dean was saying. His breaths were slow, few, and far between, and Dean could feel the blood that now covered the entire right side of Sam sinking into his own clothing.

He didn't know how much time passed before Sam finally stopped breathing. Dean fell silent, numb horror settling over him. _No, no, no…damn it, Sam…no…_ "Sammy?" His voice cracked. He shook him gently. "Sam?"

In a second Cas was by his side. "Is he dead?"

Dean could hardly make his throat work. "I…uh…"

"Tell me." His voice was urgent. "_Is he dead?_"

He nodded dumbly.

Cas bent over the bed and put his hand on Sam's forehead.

"What're you doing to him?" Dean's voice was low, quiet. He wrapped his arms around Sam's middle. "Is he still…still in there?"

Cas didn't answer, but his face was screwed up with intense concentration, and the muscles in his neck corded. A long moment passed, and then he stumbled backward as if repelled by an invisible force, like the wrong end of a magnet. He looked dazed.

"Cas?"

"He is safe." He straightened back up, shaking his head as if to clear it.

"You did it?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"He's gone?"

"Yes, he is."

Dean nodded again. His vision swam.

"And…" Cas cocked his head to the side, appearing to be listening for something. "He says you'll want proof."

"What?" Dean's head snapped up. "You mean y-you can—"

"I can hear him, yes."

"How…"

"He's at my place of residence, in my garrison. I know exactly where he is, so I know where to listen. The holy fire makes it difficult, so I don't know if I'll be able to hear him for very long."

"Oh…" His arms tightened around Sam's body. "Well…what's he saying?"

"Again, he says you'll want proof that I'm not lying to you." His brow knit in confusion. "He said… The rescuers?"

"What?"

"I…don't know what that means." He paused again to listen. "He says…his tape, his videotape, _The Rescuers_, when you were both children. He's asking if you remember."

"Uh…yeah. Why?" Yeah, he remembered, but…a Disney movie? What the hell…

"He remembers how much it annoyed you that he watched it over and over, and you kept saying you were going to smash it into little pieces and throw it away," Cas explained. He sounded completely bewildered.

"Uh-huh…" Seriously, what the hell.

"And when he was seven and you were ten, you did. Except…" Another pause. "Except you thought he never found out. He found it in the garbage can before he went to bed that night, and when you thought he was asleep he saw you coming back from sneaking out to the Blockbuster to steal another one for him because you felt bad. He never told you that he knew."

That startled a watery laugh out of Dean. "I do remember that."

"He wants to know if you're convinced it's him."

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I am."

"Good."

"Cas, can he...y'know… Can he hear me?"

"No." He sat down on the opposite bed. "I'm sorry."

Dean realized with a jolt that Sam's eyes were still open. Feeling sick, he slid them shut. "Is he saying anything else?"

"Uh…" Cas squinted. "Yes."

"What?"

"He says…don't give up on Lisa and Ben, and please don't do anything stupid…"

Another choked laugh.

"And he loves you, and he's sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." And that was about all he could take. His head slumped forward onto Sam's shoulder.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that—holding onto his brother's body in desperation, his frame wracked with silent sobs. And surprise surprise, Cas had nothing to say.

But he did try, a little later on.

Not that it helped much.

"Dean."

He didn't answer.

"Listen. Maybe…Maybe this was—"

"What?" Dean muttered. "Yeah, why don't you tell me, Cas? What exactly was _this_?" But he didn't really have the energy to pick a fight right now. God, he was so exhausted…

"A mercy."

Dean snorted. "Really." _Oh, this oughta be good._

"Lucifer's forces would not have stopped hounding him, Dean. If not today, then it would have happened eventually. Don't delude yourself."

Dean bit his lip. "We could've stopped it. If he'd have just come to me sooner, I coulda protected him."

Cas gestured at Sam's body, agitated. "Yes, well…He didn't, and you didn't."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks," Dean snapped.

"I'm sorry." His tone softened. "But he's safe, Dean. Where he is, the forces of Hell cannot touch him. Ever again."

"But the forces of Heaven can," Dean pointed out.

"True, but he'll be with me. I told you I would look after him. And he's far from helpless, you of all people know that."

Well, Cas was right about that. Dean briefly wondered just who was going to be protecting who up there.

But something was still nagging at his mind. "So why'd he get busted out at all then, if this was going to happen the minute he did?"

"I don't know."

"Huh, maybe it was one of Lucifer's pals, who just wanted to play some sick little game of cat-and-mouse."

Cas looked dubious. "It's…possible."

"Oh yeah? Well what's your theory?"

Cas sighed. "Is it so unreasonable to assume that it was the will of God?"

Dean barked a humorless laugh. "Don't you even talk to me about the will of God, Cas." He shook Sam's limp body for emphasis.

"Dean, this is…difficult, I know that. But you have to understand, whether or not you yourself are willing to acknowledge God's hand at work, the powers of evil will always strive mightily against it. You know this. And you cannot blame God for it."

_Oh yeah? Watch me. _"Your point?"

"My point _is_, you believe that your brother's death is the lesser of two evils. But exchanging an eternity of fire and damnation for Heaven and safety and respite? I'd call that mercy."

Funeral pyres were never as cool as they were in the movies. Dean had seen enough fallen hunters torched in his day to know that. Because the movies always left out the stomach-turning stench of burning hair and flesh, or what you really saw once whatever you'd wrapped the body with burned away… Or what it was _like _to stand there and watch, your heart ripped out, facing the wall of heat, the thick, oily, dirty smoke stinging your eyes and searing your lungs as you watched your own brother burn…

They'd had to torch him in the parking lot. The goddamn _parking lot. _During the next day, the circle surrounding the motel had burned itself down to scattered fires and heaps of smoldering brush, which Cas still could not pass through but which Dean could step over easily. And they hadn't been attacked since, not that he wasn't anticipating it eventually if they didn't get the hell out of here, and soon. But they were still in the middle of nowhere, with no phone and no car and no civilization at all to speak of. That didn't mean they could wait to get rid of the Sam's body, though. It took a great amount of convincing on Cas's part, because Dean wanted to wait until he could take him to Bobby's place and do it there so that maybe he could go out with a little bit of dignity. But Cas had pointed out that even though he himself wasn't capable of bringing Sam back, and neither were any of the other angels, that didn't mean the demons might not have something nasty up their sleeves, try to bring him back and then drag him down. He'd have to settle for bringing the ashes with him to Bobby's. Getting rid of the body was the only way to make absolutely sure Sam would stay safe, and Dean knew it. Didn't make watching it happen any easier on him.

And right now, seeing what he was seeing, it didn't console him all that much that Cas said that as soon as the holy fire was gone, he'd be able to hear Sam again. Or that Dean made Cas swear that if anything happened to him and he got himself killed, Cas would make damn sure that Dean ended up wherever Sam was up there.

As he stood there, the same loud, disjointed words and phrases that had been swirling around in his head now screeched angrily somewhere between his ears. _No. No! He saved the world, dammit. He can't go out this way, he doesn't deserve to. It's been a day. A DAY. Well, for me, anyway. No, no, no..._

_Sammy…_

He was on his knees then. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Cas.

"Are you going to be alright?"

Huh.

He assessed his situation. What did he even have left? Aside from one gaping hole in his heart.

Lisa. Ben. Bobby. A tenuous, sure-to-be-maddening one-way communication with Sam through Cas. And the promise of seeing Sam again if he died. _When_ he died. Hopefully he didn't have long to wait.

He'd cling to those things. Cling to them with all his might. Because what choice did he have, really?

_Are you going to be alright?_

"No," he said. "But I'll manage."

_**End. **_


End file.
